


A company to go with a drink in midnight

by gustin_puckerman



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif notices Hunter is bothered. She decides to introduce herself. Or the story of how Lady Sif and Lance Hunter come to meet. ―Lance/Sif. Post 2x12 "Who You Really Are". Heavy mentions of Lance/Bobbi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A company to go with a drink in midnight

**Author's Note:**

> My brain roared with the idea of Sif thinking Hunter is actually a _hunter_ and is all impressed with him and this idea that I buried was finally written. Huzzah.

 

It’s dark when she sees his hunching figure.

And he’s alone. That, also, she notices. And Sif is not afraid to approach. No. Not even when most of her memory has been stripped from her like bandages against wounded skin―hesitance is a rare trait she possesses. And while it used to concern both of her much traditional, older great grandparents, she likes it. And just like the times before, even when she’s a young child, she will let it embrace her.

So, she walks closer, letting the heel that’s attached to the bottom of the surprisingly comfortable Midgard’s boot knocks a repeated soft echo against the empty walls as she does, but he doesn’t turn around―instead continues on with his content urge to empty his (third? fourth?) bottle of alcoholic beverages. (It’s nothing against what Asgard could offer as an intoxicating set of drinks since her home serves a much stronger dose to delusion a mortal, but it’s addicting, and _that_ , she thinks, she understands.)

“Hello,” she announces aloud, like a warrior bellowing the begin of a battle, and watches as he chokes softly on his drink, before turning around. The lid of his beer sits near where his mouth lies. She says more, “I’ve noticed you are by your own.”

“Oh, um, yeah.” The lad manages after a few seconds, bringing a hand up to wipe his lips with the back of his hand. “Nobody really comes here a lot. Or well, at least, at this hour. You’re, uh―you’re the lady alien, aren’t ya’?”

“I am Lady Sif of Asgard.” She introduces, bowing her head a little as she does, shifting her position when he continues to stare. “And you are an agent of Son of Coul’s organisation, S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Yes, that _is_ correct,” He points out with his hand still around the beer, nodding back, “I’m, what they call, Hunter.”

Her eyes lit up unexpectedly, “You are a hunter?” She begins to observe his whole figure from bottom to up―young face, but such wane eyes―and takes a step back, shocked perhaps, “I would’ve guessed a hunter should be bigger in size, but nevertheless.” She bows again out of respect, and suddenly hears him chuckle out loud.

“No. No!” He corrects, and Sif looks up confusedly, notices the amused wrinkles forming by the corner of his eyes as a smile gestures across his unshaven face, making him look a lot less... depressed than she first sees him in. “Hunter’s honestly, genuinely my name. Not an occupation or a title or whatever the heck you must be thinking. Though, I suppose, I _do_ hunt things for a living a while there. But um, yea, it’s definitely my name. Like yours is, uh, Sif, right?”

“ _Lady_ Sif,” she corrects him in turn, “And I apologise. I was not aware.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Honest mistake, yeah? Makes us humans in all ways possible.” He pauses to give her a look, then shrugs, chugging back on his drink, “Or well, Asgardian too, I suppose.”

“You drink a lot.”

“S’nice of you to notice,” The smirk on his face, she realises immediately, is perhaps out of mock. But perhaps not intentional. “What? Don’t tell me they don’t have beer on _your_ planet?”

“At Asgard we produce a much, what you Midgard here likes to refer as, _stronger_ drinks. Your body will not be able to withstand after even a half of it.”

“Well, that’s nice.” He murmurs with a trace of the same mock, but in a light-hearted tone that challenges the confusion in Sif in a much higher level. “When you come by next time, don’t forget to pass me one. Or ten.”

“In my personal view, I will not advise for it, Hunter.”

There’s something in his eyes that twinkles when his name passes her lips and Sif tilts her head out of genuine interest; he observes her for a while, then shrugs again, continues on, “Why am I not surprised to find you’d be a party pooper.”

“I am not―a _party pooper_.” She cringes at his words. “I’m not quite certain if I understood what it meant.”

“It―” He starts, simultaneously gives up the second afterwards, shaking his head. “It means nothing. Just. Forget ‘bout it.” He chugs on his beer again.

“You are sad.” She tries, slowly. “Are you not, Hunter?”

The smile on his face next is a fake. She knows this. “And what makes you say that?”

“A man in a pleasant mood wouldn’t nurture himself with drinks meant to intoxicate your train of mind at wee hours in the morning. Except of course, something is indeed bothering him.” She explains as rationally as she could, her eyes somehow never fails to look away from his hold. “Perhaps you’d like to share?”

“Oh no. _No_.” He shakes his head, “Not with a alien-slash-goddess, no offence. But this is... kind of personal. And frankly, I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Are you... sure?”

“Yes.” He insists, shut his eyes. “No, wait. I just― _I don’t know_.”

She raises an eyebrow.

He huffs out a heavy breath of air.

The silence lingers.

And then, slowly, he clears his throat, turns to her, “What... what do you do when you know the person who means a lot to you, _doesn’t_ trust you?”

She blinks at him several times, sees how his tired eyes lie on her expectedly, like she holds all of the answer in the universe right at the back of her palm and suddenly Sif is struck by the true sadness lying in those deepening frowns. How truly disturbed he is by... this personal issue. She purses her lips. 

“I mean!” He interrupts, “I just―I tried to _get_ her, ya’ know? Tried to meet her halfway like she always bloody wants me to, and now that I am, that I’m _trying_ , it just... she doesn’t _want_ it? And wouldn’t she think I’d notice? The secrecy, the stupid glances she give between her and Mack? What? She thinks I’d be _that_ dumb, does she? Bloody hell. I’m so fucking frustrated and tired and I just―I want her to trust me because, dammit, I want to trust _her_.”

He releases a hiss of breath when he curses again next, and Sif doesn’t flinch. Merely watches. “Quite honestly, I’m done. If I could, I’d be done with all of this. I just―I’ve no idea what to do.”

He says again, “And now I’m sitting here, in the bloody dark, drinking this stupid beer, wallowing in my self-pity, asking myself if I’m being too paranoid because I’m too afraid to be correct and I’ve got. No. Fucking. Idea. What. To. Fucking. Do.”

“Perhaps you should confront her.”

He snorts. “Well, that’ll end brilliantly, m’sure.”

She resists herself from rolling her eyes. Men and their stupid sarcasm as a coping mechanism. “Fine,” she decides, “Then confront... this Mack friend of hers. Did I pronounce the name correctly?”

“What?” He asks, “And yea, you did. Confront Mack? But.... no. I can’t―m’not doing that.”

“If you require answers to your questions, then perhaps there are no other options.” She suggests, “Unless you prefer this nameless female subject you kept on mentioning.”

“I... I don’t know if I can do that.” He answers truthfully, “I mean, I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Then _try_ , Hunter of SHIELD.” She tells, “Try, or you’ll keep drinking in the dark for a long amount of time.”

“Huh.” He lets out, then mumbles. “Better said than done.” One finger towards her, he points, “D’you even know _why_ I drink?”

“I need not know why.” She is certain, “I only know if this resume, you will lead your life in a darker path full of uncertainty and hesitance. Not a very grand way to live, I believe.”

He seems to be ignoring what she just said, “It’s so I don’t feel. I don’t _think_.”

“But isn’t that what it means to become what you are? A human?” She steps forward, now slightly irritated by his constance lack of effort to pursue in life. “You feel and you bare emotions whether it be good or bad and you make decisions, and it is _okay_. That is what you are meant to do. It’s when you do nothing at all that is incorrect. You shouldn’t give up, Hunter. Go forward, and _hunt_.”

He stares at her. For a very long time. “Damn,” he says finally, putting his drink down. When he looks at her again, something shifts within those waning gaze―like a thrill. A streak of amusement. Maybe even a growing admiration. “You’re really _are_ from outta this world, aren’t ya’?”

And Sif smirks.

 

 

...

 

“You will think of what I’ve said, yes?”

She asks a few hour later when they’re supposed to be departing, and he nods back lazily, swallowing. “I’ll be thinking ‘bout lots more than words, but yea.” He says, giving her an eyeful from top to bottom―all suited in her combating attire. “Sure.”

This time, she actually rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny the grin that’s forming on the corner of her lips. “It is an interesting occasion to have met you, Hunter.”

“Yeah, you too, Sif.”

“ _Lady_ Sif,” She corrects and watches him roll his eyes backwards.

“Yea, yea. _Lady_. Whatever. I’ll think about your words, yeah?” He takes her hand suddenly, deepens a sudden kiss down her knuckles then watches her. “And you be good out there. Guarding stars and... other unworldly stuff.”

“Of course.” 

“And next time you come around for a visit, bring along that drink of yours. Might be an interesting sight to watch me got knocked out by an alien beer.” He smirks playfully, and Sif feels something squirms within her stomach when she spots no trace of malice nor the usual mock. She grants him with a small smile of hers, delighted.

“Perhaps I’ll come only to bring you company and only that.”

“Well,” he grins childishly, “That sounds good too. I’ll try not to complain. A lot.”

“And as Midgards’ preferred term,” she echoes back. “Sounds like a deal.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't think I crackship them, you are completely undeniably wrong.


End file.
